


Behind the Times

by fugitivehues



Category: D.N. Angel
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Canon Compliant, Gen, Missing Scene, One Shot Collection, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fugitivehues/pseuds/fugitivehues
Summary: A collection of semi-chronological one shots based on the original 100 Themes Challenge.2. Complicated - "With a gasp, Niwa pulled away from the painting and resurfaced in his firelit room."
Kudos: 4





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I'm weak to prompts and my whims! I found this list to be very inspiring so let's see where it takes me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hikari the artist

Calloused hands pulled thin hair back into a small ponytail, tied with a piece of string. The young man straightened his coarse top. There was nothing that could be done about the stains and frayed sleeves. He resumed tugging the small wagon down the road, winding between fellow pedestrians and horses, acutely aware of each _clink_ and _clack_ underneath its tarp as the wooden wheels fought against cobblestones.

"And to which school do you belong...?"

Upon arriving at his destination, the man had stood in the grand entrance of an estate while the noon sun blazed above. In the distance, two men talked in voices too low to hear. An older one sat on a cushion under the overhanging roof, clearly a nobleman based on the ornate clothes of bright, shimmering patterns. He had finally picked up a brush and wrote on a paper. The younger one attempted to smother his elation with a deep bow and hurriedly departed, carrying a basket of goods that _clinked_ and _clacked_ as well.

Then his turn to step forward had arrived, and his wagon shattered the silence of the peaceful garden. He almost didn't notice anymore, having done this countless times in the past year.

"Hikari," he responded calmly.

A scroll unrolled and a smooth finger glided above black script on the parchment, names of artists Hikari recognized even upside-down.

"I have never heard of this one."

"It's my own."

A thick eyebrow raised, while black eyes scanned him head to foot, lingering on the too-short trousers and scuffed boots. Hikari's own blue eyes never averted their gaze.

"Schools are founded by masters with experience and great skill. Pioneers in their field who pave the way to new forms of art," the nobleman drawled pushing his scrolls to the side. "Come back in a few years. Kyushu is brimming with potters, surely one will offer you an apprenticeship—"

"Azumano is the center of arts in Edo, perhaps all of Japan. I won't settle anywhere else." Nor did Hikari wait for an invitation to remove the tarp from his wagon, revealing a motley collection of pottery, sculpture, and even small paintings.

"This is only part of my works thus far," he didn't miss how the other man's eyes examined the artworks, less skeptical than before. "With a patron such as yourself, I could showcase the full extent of my talent and in ways unseen before... sir." Etiquette was important in interviews, he recalled belatedly. Though it was too late to retreat now.

The nobleman waved a hand towards Hikari. _Let me see,_ it said.

Hikari gave him one of the fine porcelain bowls, painted a brilliant blue with images of large rose blooms. Only closer could one see the hair-thin details of thorned vines that filled each petal.

No, he would be wasted in Kyushu.

With a _hmm_ from the older man, the bowl was returned and an ink painting replaced it. Mountains rising up from the mist; a classic that would surely be appreciated by older buyers. The trees in the foreground, peppered with bird species that Hikari had observed in his travels, added an unexpected smear of color.

"You're good," was the slow, eventual response. Sweat from the summer heat rolled down Hikari's face as he forced it to remain impassive. He needed this... "and you have potential. But your works are entirely safe, are they not?"

Blue eyes narrowed in thought.

"I could commission any master of pottery or ink to create similar pieces. What have you brought to Azumano that I cannot find anywhere else?"

His heart thudded with a tinge of uncertainty. Most of his pieces here were of this kind, seeking to impress the traditional sensibilities that had appealed to his previous, smaller patrons. This nobleman, who had just minutes before welcomed a young potter into his fold, eyed Hikari again, searching for something he didn't know. More daring, personal artworks had been left at home, cumbersome and unlikely to earn him an income. All except one — parting from which had been unbearable.

"My latest piece, _Elm Root,_ " Hikari finally responded, voice low and more even than he felt. He liked this one. More than all the others before it. "However, the creation process began several years ago."

From the floor of the wagon, he lifted a large wooden stick. Hikari ran a rough hand over the surface, mind lingering in each stage of the process. "To begin, I tamed the root of a wild elm tree to grow exactly how I wished-"

"Like bonsai!" the nobleman chuckled, the most emotive sound Hikari had heard from the stern patron. 

Hikari tore his eyes away from his artwork, remembering he needed to impress him. The skill and dedication involved was greater than one without artistic pursuits could understand; he had learned that lesson well. 

Loosening the tight grip he didn't know he'd had on _Elm Root_ , Hikari stepped forward once more and handed over the artwork for inspection. 

With a deep breath, he said, "Indeed, like bonsai. After guiding the root to the proper shape and allowing it to grow beneath the earth again, I cut and dried it. Then I removed any extra fibers, sanding it to complete smoothness."

The nobleman's soft hands stroked the artwork, lingering on its protruding tines, also sanded to be supple and smooth, unrecognizable from the mat of roots Hikari had unearthed months ago.

It was a walking stick and not a walking stick. Impractical, yet pleasing to the eyes and hands. It was organic and unruly and exactly how he'd wanted. An artwork created via patience and tenacity, for the thrill of creation.

The nobleman returned _Elm Root_ and grabbed the brush beside his seat. "Hikari, was it?"

Dipping it in black ink, he wrote the artist's name on a scroll. 


	2. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niwa the thief

In a single leap, a dark figure cleared the stone wall that stood tall around the wealthy estate. Oiled black boots made no sound as they dashed across the open courtyard, narrowly missing the gaze of a tired guard. 

A light breeze weaved through the trees, the rustling of leaves perfect cover for gloved fingers to pick a lock and pull open the creaking entry door. 

His hands, without the slightest urgency or sound, guided the carved wooden door back to its resting place and swept his dark cape away from the narrowing crack.

A pair of muffled footsteps on tatami floors rounded the corner. Moonlight leaked through ornately paned windows, illuminating the empty room that two guards had paused in. As footsteps faded, Niwa let out the breath he had been holding and lowered himself from the shadowed rafters to the soft floor. 

He could stroll the entire estate without alerting one of the many weary sentries who patrolled inside and out. Their routes and schedules as predictable as their panic would soon be. His time hadn't been wasted on those explorations in administrative and minor buildings, including a tea hut in the private garden, on the property previous nights. One can never be too careful. Or curious.

A smile spread wider on his face, catlike red eyes roving the home of a respected family wealthier than he could dream. While those locations housed fine works in their own right, a host like this probably had more than a few precious preys hidden further from "unworthy" eyes. His ears remained tuned in to every rustle of leaves, every creak of boards, and the soft sliding of cloth as he slinked down halls and peeked through crack doors.

Boots scarcely thudded over wood and tatami as he dashed down hallways towards the innermost chamber of the main house.

Tonight's target came from a rising artist in the area, some mysterious recluse whose workshop eluded all of Niwa's best contacts— for now.

Niwa pulled his leather glove taut as he crouched low outside a sliding door. But who knows, he might find something better along the way. Plenty of other artists have come and gone over the years; newcomers' works had to be sold quickly, in dark alleys or cozy bars smattered around town, before their fame dropped along with the value.

Would this painting fetch Niwa good money? Why take the risk at all, his own "patrons" might ask as well, eager to suggest gilded prizes guaranteed to sell well. Niwa rolled his eyes every time; he wasn't just any old robber.

This Hikari fellow deserved a chance too! And if he were an honest thief, Niwa would admit that he was curious about Hikari's works. All his buyers kept their purchases to themselves, showing these rumored "masterpieces" to worthy guests of worthy families only. The rumors though, spreading in every marketplace, from the top of society to the bottom, made the art positively irresistible to curious eyes. And made a heist inevitable.

Think of it as a warm welcome from Azumano's favorite phantom thief, Dark.

A heavy iron lock stood between him and his target now. With picks in hand, he twisted and prodded, seconds turning into minutes. Not because he lacked the skills, no!

It was because the master of the keep slept just a few paces away. Deep, rumbling breaths reassured Niwa and calmed his racing heart. Each click of the lock's pins rang like a bell in the bedchamber. If the master woke and saw though the darkness, he'd see a wide grin split the young thief's face. It wasn't fun if it wasn't dangerous.

By the time the iron lock gave way, gloved hand cushioning and pocketing it without a final sound, Phantom Thief Dark heart pounded with painful excitement, though his arms and legs moved with the grace of a snake as always. The professional thief swept into the room, cape suitably fluttering for no one.

It was nearly the size of the master's bedchamber, and perhaps had been used as a spare in the past. Long ago. Since then, every surface and wall had been covered with art. Painted pots and plates rested on shelves, spaced to let each shine in the eyes of visitors. Scrolls of calligraphy rose up between them, elegant writing that, Niwa frowned in concentration, he could not read. It wasn't worth the space in his bag anyway.

His eyes had long adjusted to the inky darkness, relying on slivers of moonlight to guide him. They scanned the room for "that" painting. One which would "snatch his breath away" as the delighted noblewomen had exclaimed on their walks through town. Niwa just happened to be buying food and keeping an ear open for new targets. How fortunate.

The painting would snatch nothing from him yet, as its dark shapes remained hidden in shadow. With one swift movement, Niwa slung a ripped cloth over the framed canvas and lifted it off the wall. Wrapping it once more, he secured his prize and scuttled out of the master's rooms as silently as he came.

Sounds of shouting guards and hammers hitting warning bells erupted into the night, waking up most of the surrounding area. Unfortunately, Phantom Thief Dark was already long gone.

Locking the wooden door behind him, Niwa laid the newest addition to his collection in front of the door while he busied himself with candles and a fire. Light cut through the darkness that had loyally covered him this night and many others. Finally finally, he could unwrap the painting and see what this new artist could really do! He crossed his legs and sank to the cluttered tatami floor, letting the torn cloth pool around them. 

A genuine Hikari, huh.

 _His_ Hikari now.

Held between his hands, the canvas balanced upright on his knees, half as tall as him. Not a particularly ambitious creation, but every thief appreciated portability.

For days, he'd imagined what kind of artist could win the hearts of Azumano in such a short time. He could already see flowery gardens or pretty ladies or misty mountains and scoffed. This town had plenty of customers for those things at least.

The orange light from his hearth and candles revealed to his wide red eyes the painting's true contents.

Foamy white waves rose up from the deep blue, curving slopes of bright blue illuminated by a full moon. Smudges of dark clouds near the top of the canvas were lit white with the same moonlight. In the center of the roaring chaos bobbed a dark sailboat, its masts broken, its cargo sinking into translucent indigo below.

Niwa leaned closer, gloved fingers gingerly tracing the delicate brush strokes, dry and gapped and clearly only a few swipes of paint, that captured the ship's terrified crew, clinging to ropes and railings.

Flecks of white along the bottom seemed to rush towards him, droplets catching moonlight as they danced above the treacherous ocean.

With a gasp, Niwa pulled away from the painting and resurfaced in his firelit room. Not a single drop of seawater clung to him, yet he wiped his brow all the same.

His shaking legs and hands carried the framed artwork to an empty spot on the wall. Stepping back, and again once more, he took in the scene of stolen ceramics, paintings, jewelry, and everything else he'd once deemed worthy of stealing. It was simple: steal the art, sell the art, and walk away with a pretty handful of gold for his trouble.

No, maybe not. Again, his eyes drifted back to the seascape, tasting salt on his tongue. Niwa would trade everything he owned before he let go of his Hikari.


End file.
